It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

When you’re finally facing death, how many people will love you?
Connection with a child can make routine day feel more meaningful
My father’s narcissistic control left me resentful of all authority
Depression can be mind’s way of saying, ‘Hey, we’re way off track’
The things we regret the most show us what we really value
Federal debt default? So what? It happened before — in 1979
Trump supporter: Trump imposes crippling tariffs to get rid of tariffs
Once you taste what is possible, you can’t accept being ‘normal’
The child in me never learned to feel at home as part of a group